It’s Hot Down Here

My instructions had been to make my way across the desert where I would be met and allocated a job and a place to live. I thought back to how I’d got here. 

I’d been in the queue for days. Seems there’d been a technical hitch at the main desk and the soul detection monitor was on the blink and they were having to process people manually.

When I got close to the front I noticed two men in white overalls tinkering with a large machine and behind them stood a large man dressed in a long, flowing white robe. In his hands, he held an enormous leather-bound ledger.

When my turn came two guards told me to step forward.

“Name,” said the man in the flowing robe.

“Jenkins,” I replied. Paul Samuel Jenkins.”

The man looked at me, then down at the ledger. I saw his fingers scroll down the page and stop.

Without looking up he said, “To the left.””

A guard escorted me to a set of stone stairs leading down. He sneered at me and snarled, “Just keep going and don’t even think about coming back.

As I descended the stairs the heat hit me. 

 

Mike Jackson

A 200-word story for Sunday Photo Fiction.

Photo courtesy of Joy Pixley

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